A Conspiracy of Paper

in the eye and tell me things you knew to be utterly false—that the Bank had deceived me, that you knew of no connection between Rochester and my father’s death?”

Adelman’s jowly face quivered as he sighed. “Alas, lying to you then was necessary. It is no longer so.”

“So you say. But how am I to know that? Your word is meaningless. You have rendered it so. Now you tell me to believe you, but there is no basis for that belief.”

He smiled. “You need only choose to believe, Mr. Weaver. That is your basis.”

“Like the new finance,” I observed. “It is true only so long as we believe it to be true.”

“The world has changed, you know. You can either change with it and prosper or shake your fists at the heavens. I prefer to do the former. What about you, Mr. Weaver? What do you prefer?”

I thought that I should not hold myself indebted to the South Sea Company and that a man of principle would reject their bargain, but I needed the money. Part of me wished to ask for more, for what was the harm in asking for more of something that could be printed for the mere cost of paper yet exchanged for real money, assuming there existed such a thing. In the end I accepted this offer and I kept silent of their secret for as long as it mattered, and perhaps even longer. I suppose it no longer matters who knows of these things, and in light of the disaster that the South Sea Company was yet to face, I think hardly anyone would care now that once false stock circulated among murderers and their victims.

THIRTY-FIVE

THE NEXT DAY Elias affected an unwillingness to talk to me, blaming me for the failure of his play, which the management of the Drury Lane Theatre indicated would not continue for a second night. Elias was not to have even one benefit performance. His play had not earned him a single penny.

After some grueling hours of explanation, supplication, and promise of silver, Elias agreed that I had probably not shown up at the theatre with the intent of throwing anyone upon the stage, but he demanded the right to retain his foul disposition. He also demanded an immediate loan of five guineas. I had been prepared for a request of this sort, knowing the extent to which Elias had been depending on the proceeds of the benefit night. And as I, too, blamed myself in some small measure for the failure of The Unsuspecting Lover, and I wished to make amends as best I could, I handed an envelope to my friend.

He opened it and stared at the contents.

“You suffered no small amount at the hands of this inquiry,” I said. “I thought it only fair that you share in the rewards. Adelman has bribed me with a thousand pounds’ worth of stock, so now you will have half of it and together we shall share in the fortunes or misfortunes of the South Sea Company.”

“I think I hate you considerably less than I did this morning,” Elias said, as he examined the issues. “I should never have made half so much had my play lasted to a benefit night. You won’t forget that we need to transfer this to my name?”

“I think I have sufficiently familiarized myself with the procedures.” I took the stock away from him for a moment that I might get his attention. “However, I do still require your opinion on some unresolved matters. I have been hardly used, I fear, and I know not by whom.”

“I would have thought your adventures to be at a finish,” Elias said absently, pretending he felt perfectly comfortable while I held his shares. “The villain is dead. What more could you wish?”

“I cannot but have doubts,” I told him. I proceeded to explain how I had been visited by a woman claiming to be Sarah Decker, and how she had exposed Sir Owen in a series of lies. “It was at that moment I concluded Sir Owen to be the villain behind all of these crimes.”

“And now you are uncertain.”

“Uncertain—yes, that is the very word,” I said.

“Is it not the best word to describe this age?” Elias asked pointedly.

“I should like if it were not the best word to describe this month, however. That woman told me she was Sarah Decker so that I might become convinced that Sir Owen was Martin Rochester. But if she lied about her identity and her motives, how do I know Sir Owen truly was Rochester?”

“Why would he have been murdered if he had not been guilty? You must surely have concluded that either the South Sea Company or someone else, equally implicit in these crimes, removed him in order to prevent him from speaking of what he knows.”

“It is true,” I agreed, “but perhaps this murderer made the same mistake I did. Perhaps Sir Owen’s assassin was tricked as I was. For if the South Sea Company had known Sir Owen to be Martin Rochester, why would they not have dealt with him long before?”

The puzzle had his attention. He squinted and dug his shoes into the dirt. “If someone wished you to believe that Sir Owen was Martin Rochester, why not simply write you a note telling you so instead of sending you hints from pretty heiresses? Why engage in an elaborate performance in the hope that you will reach the conclusion the schemer wishes?”

I had thought about this question as well. “Had I just received word that Sir Owen was Martin Rochester, I would have certainly looked into the matter, but as things have been set up, I did not hear that Sir Owen was the villain, I discovered it. You see, it was the discovery that fired my actions. Had I simply looked into an accusation, I should have done so quietly and discreetly. I believe that someone wished to see me turn to violence. The schemer knew Rochester’s true name all along but needed for someone else to remove Sir Owen. I just wish I knew who the schemer is.”

“You may never know who the schemer is,” Elias said as he took his stock back from my hand. “But I would bet that you can guess—in all probability, that is.”

He was right. I could.

IT TOOK ME some days to work up the will to do so, but I knew I had to understand the events that transpired in these pages, and I knew that there was but one man who could clarify much of what I had seen. I had no desire to seek him out, to engage with him more than I had to, but I would know the truth, and no one else could tell me. I therefore mustered my resolve and paid a visit to Jonathan Wild’s home. He had me wait almost not at all, and when he entered his drawing room he greeted me with a smile that might have suggested amusement or anxiety. In truth, he was as uncertain about me as I was about him, and his uncertainty made me feel far more at ease.

“How kind of you to call.” He poured me a glass of port and then limped across the room to sit across from me upon his princely throne, utterly confident in his powers. As always, Abraham Mendes stood silent sentry over his master. “I trust you are here on a matter of business.” A smile spread across Wild’s wide, square face.

I smiled falsely in return. “Of a sort. I wish for you to help make things clear for me, for much that has happened still confuses me. I know that you were to some degree involved with the late baronet, and that you attempted to control my actions from behind the scenes. But I do not entirely understand the scope or the motivation of your involvement.”

He took a long drink of his port. “And why should I tell you, sir?”

I thought on this for a moment. “Because I asked,” I said, “and because I was treated rudely by your hands, and I feel you owe me. After all, had things gone your way, I would be in Newgate this moment. But despite your efforts to keep me from contacting anyone while inside the Compter, you see I have emerged victorious.”

“I know not what you mean,” he told me unconvincingly. He did not wish to convince me.

“It could only have been you who prevented me from sending messages during my night of confinement. Had the Bank of England involved itself so early, surely Duncombe would have ruled against me. You would not have so extended yourself as the Bank would, but it would have been no large thing for you to convince the turnkeys at that jail to perform such a small service for you. So, as I say, Mr. Wild—I believe you owe me.”

“Perhaps I shall be open with you,” he said after a long pause, “because at this point I have nothing to lose by being so. After all, anything I say to you can never be used against me at the law, for you are the only witness of what I shall say.” He glanced at Mendes, I suspected for my benefit. He wished to make clear that any friendly exchanges between Jews should serve me not at all. “In any rate,” he continued, “as you are so clever, perhaps you might tell me what you suspect.”

“I shall tell you what I know, sir. I know that you had a personal investment in my inquiry continuing, and I can only presume it is because you wished to see the demise of Sir Owen, whom you knew to be the same as Martin Rochester. Your reason for doing so was that you, at some earlier point, were Mr.